but there is very little in it that is either useful
or comfortable. There are a few books, &c.,
assiduously arranged on a " centre-table," and
some trumpery knick-knacks scattered about.
There is the inevitable and abominable rocking-chair,
which only looks worse when it has a
woman in it swaying herself to and fro. I am told
that these exotics have been acclimatised at
Liverpool; I trust they may not make their way
inland.

There is not only the door leading into the
drawing-room, but there are other doors more
than I can count. Several of these belong
to sleeping rooms, which are about six feet
square, which have no other access, and which,
if they have any other means of ventilation, do
not get it. A great stove is kept burning,
perhaps with fiery tamarack, night and day, and the
oxygen is dried up, to the heart's content of a
Canadian housewife. This is a pernicious
practice, from which you cannot dissuade them. To
my remonstrances Mrs. Hindmarsh's reply is,
"I like to sleep warm."

The dining-room is evidently intended for use
and not to be looked at like the drawing-room:
it is comfortable, and has a table of hospitable
size. Our dinner is good, though not exactly
"according to Cocker." In the first place, the
principal dish is a tea-tray with all its appurtenances.
A "dish" of tea is the standing dish
at every Canadian meal; it is an insidious custom
and grows upon one. In place of a glass of sherry
or a tumbler of beer, which are not forthcoming,
I never decline it. Next in rank and in frequency
comes a beefsteak, about the colour of whity-brown
paper. On this occasion it is better than
it looks. Then are a cold ham, mashed potatoes,
sour-krout, and pickles. When you have
discussed what you please of them (and
everything is pressed upon you), cheese and butter
are handed round. Then, as a bonne bouche,
succeeds a plate of rich mince-pie, flanked round
the edges with some very luscious-looking
preserves. The greater part of this remains
untasted, but this is rather a point of good
manners, and you must never, by any want of
self-command, permit yourself to take the last piece
remaining on a dish. I have declined a piece
of bread, under those circumstances, and the
plate has been immediately offered to me again
replenished. I have omitted stewed apples,
which I was expected to eat with the
beefsteak.

There is one point, in which I am a hopeless
delinquent. I cannot pour down the tea boiling
hot, and I put the lady of the house into a fidget,
waiting for my cup. I have continually to
apologise.

In the mean time the horses were not
forgotten. They were driven, sleigh and all, into
the "driving house," where was a rack filled
with hay for their benefit. This is a most
convenient adjunct to a Canadian establishment; in
all weathers, horses and vehicle are at once under
cover. Having dined, we went to work again
in the swamp.

We pursued our work till dusk; made a satisfactory
beginning, and got safe back again across
the ice before night set in.

No need of rocking-chairs after that.

MY DUNGEONS.

MY SECOND DUNGEONS.

THE Bagnio at Procida was shut, and we
were obliged to remain in the boat. Early
next morning, however, we were conveyed to
prison, where we were searched and given over
in charge to a captain, who again had us
chained in couples. But, as my companion was
seized with ophthalmia almost immediately
afterwards, he was taken to hospital, and I
remained alone. Here the way to my dungeon
was down three flights of stone steps,* which
became, as I descended, more and more dark,
more and more damp and slimy. At the foot
of these stairs was a heavy iron gate, leading
to a smaller one: the entrance to my tomb of
expiation. It was large and high, but the
walls were slimy, and exhaled, as in the last
prison, a pestilential odour. If a hand were
placed in contact with them, a green revolting
substance stuck to it. Drops of green water
dropped from the ceiling, which was at the
same time concealed by volumes of thick
smoke. The floor was damp, and covered with
a filthy glutinous scum. The prison being
situated about sixty feet beneath the surface of
the earth, the two small windows, with a double
row of iron grating before them, looked out on a
sort of trench between walls, so that only a dim
light could ever reach the prisoner; sunshine,
never. A letter could not be read even at
noon-day, close to the window. By candlelight, slugs
were to be seen crawling everywhere, leaving
after them a viscous track. There was a wooden
bench to serve as a bed, but no straw or
mattress. Yet there were thirty prisoners here
whose existence was made known to me by their
voices only, for I could not at first distinguish
them in the dim light. The damp penetrated
into the very marrow of my bones, from the
sole of my foot to the crown of my head,
chilling me with the iciness of death. One
hour's stay in the horrid atmosphere sufficed to
make the clothes wet through, and in twenty
hours the face of the prisoner became swollen,
and his complexion transparent, with a violet
ring round the eyes. The air was thick, causing
a painful oppression when inhaled. It was
indeed a tomb; a tomb reserved for newly
arrived political offenders, where they could
obtain escape only on payment of a bribe.
For three dollars to the captain, and thirty
carlini to two ruffianly turnkeys with poniards in
their trousers, I was removed to another place
a little better. This change was a great blessing
to me, especially as I was now among political
prisoners, with whom I could exchange a few
words, or from whom I could perhaps hear
hopeful news.

The dungeon in which I was now placed
had the appearance of a long narrow corridor,

*The number of steps from the corridor to the
room was 117.